


The Confession

by Msdarkholme20



Category: Original Work
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Impact Play, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 14:07:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30090264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Msdarkholme20/pseuds/Msdarkholme20
Summary: So this is my attempt at fusing an Erotica and a Journal Entry. I guess simply writing my confession didn't seem challenging enough. And maybe building a story around it made starting this confession/journal a little easier. As stated in the story, my thoughts were sort of triggered by one of my story readers and I felt the need to expand on it in some way I guess. I hope this intrigues or does some good in some way shape or form.TRIGGER WARNING: Does not contain Non/con but does talk about it.
Kudos: 1





	The Confession

I watch as your body wriggles and squirms while on your toes. Your feet, shuffling back and forth taking individual rest periods because of how taxed your body already is to be put in such a position after our impact play. But here you are… wrists stretched via rope to an eye bolt in the ceiling, on the balls of your feet because… well, just standing there seemed too easy. Little desperate moans escape your mouth as you attempt to alleviate your wrists and maintain a balance. Red stripes line your naked body from my floggers and toys, your back, breasts, ass and thighs. And I just sit here, very satisfied with myself, soaking it all in three feet in front of you.

I’m sitting on the coffee table looking you up and down, taking notice of EVERYTHING, the way your breath makes your chest rise and fall, the bead of sweat at your temple, the way you have to gulp now and again to swallow behind the ball gag. How- with your arms stretched above you, your hourglass figure becomes such a fucking knock out! That in order to get just a little more height you clench your thighs. And my personal favorite, that even though your legs are together, when you shift, I can see your glistening arousal.

You look so beautiful. All trussed up for me. And the way I stare and absorb it, well, the only way to describe it is… predatory. Predator and prey. I used to think this was a bad thing. Never spoke of my true desires within the confines of a vanilla relationship because why would someone want these things? Or rather, yes perhaps someone wants these things, but to be on the other end… the receiving end of this… that’s abuse isn’t it? And you don’t want to be the abuser, right?

I look at you, you look at me. We’ve played together, successfully many times before. Both receiving what we need, which boosts my confidence in what I’m about to admit. Because I have been thinking about something lately. Something triggered by a comment you made. When we began speaking, you were originally drawn into my writing, expressing that it gave you glimpses. More RELATABLE glimpses into why a Dominant would want to do these things to a submissive, FOR a submissive. Because from your perspective, you felt you were USING your Dom, that he/she couldn’t possibly enjoy it in the way you do, because THEY had to do all the work. “How un-rewarding” you thought. While you soaked up all the sensations and orgasms.

Well, I think I’ve decided to tell you in my own kinky way, that Dom’s absolutely DO enjoy what we do.

I get up from my position on the coffee table, which also doubles as the table where I have all of my fun toys displayed in front of you. Oh, how I enjoy watching your eyes try to guess which torturous or sensual implement I might grab next. I take my time, teasing, looking like I really can’t decide what to grab next. My hand hovers over the handles of some of them, some wicked, some soft and downright luxurious. You try to be good, and try not to be obvious about which tool YOU want me to grab, because you know that will only entice me to grab something on the opposite spectrum.

My hand hovers over the handle of something I call my unicorn tail and your body relaxes. Your eyes stare at it hopefully. You must want this. It’s a soft flogger, made of essentially rainbow fluffiness. The World’s Strongest Man could whip someone with this thing and do absolutely no harm. It’s a favorite of yours, and something I’ve used on you quite often- but not tonight, that isn’t the tempo I’m going for tonight. My hand lowers the rest of the way and at last second shifts to the left for the riding crop. Bait and switch.

Your body stiffens as your eyes follow the crop in my grip, fully aware of the snappy stings this can leave on bare naked skin. I toy with it in the air as I make my way to your vulnerable body. I get in real close, putting my lips and nose so close to your neck but I just hover and look at your eyes while you watch the leather tip of the crop glide across the skin of your chest. And then, slowly down your breast, ever so slowly it makes it to your nipple. And I smile as your breath catches, as you wait for the sting. But it doesn’t come.

I step in front of you abruptly, “You know,” I say casually, then reach for the loop on your collar, just playing with it, “you’ve made me think a lot lately, triggered so to speak… what you said about my stories… that they helped you understand a Dominant perspective. Helped you get into my head, so to speak.” I pull on the collar loop and come in close, real close. “And I’m just wondering…” I half whisper, “Just wondering how much more- “perspective” I can give you... If it’s something you can truly understand?” I look at you and watch your eyes get curious.

I let those words linger before making sure to continue with our scene. I reach toward your breasts, pinching the nipples and lifting, making them bounce slightly as you grunt, “These are beautiful by the way. But I think they could use some adornment.” I quickly return to my table and begin to look for some ‘nipple jewelry’.

As I peruse my options, I continue with my previous conversation nonchalantly, “Anyway, being in a Dom’s head isn’t always the safest place to be. It took me a LONG time to figure things out and quite frankly, I’m still having self-discoveries…” I reach for something on my coffee table, but from your vantage, with me standing in the way, you can’t see what it is I grabbed.

I return to my spot right in front of your naked body and tease the reveal of what I grabbed from my arsenal. At first, I just hold the clamp open and visible, but then I let the small ball of weight drop in front of your eyes. Your eyes widen as you watch the 8oz metal ball dangle from the sharp teeth that will shortly be connected to your sensitive tissue. I hold the little alligator teeth open and trace over your skin with it while you watch. Those teeth come to a stop right over the nipple as I play; I play with your skin, your eyes, your breath. I watch them all change before I pinch the nipple between my fingers and attach the teeth.

Your breath catches and your head pushes backwards with a moan. I don’t tease for the second connection and immediately after the first, pinch the next nipple and attach the second clamp and weight. I can’t help but smirk and give the weights little taps so that they pull and swing back and forth. Childish, perhaps- but satisfying.

I stand behind you and wrap my arms around your body, tucking my chin into your neck on your shoulder. I hold your body tight within my arms and from here I can have access to so much. My hands begin to roam your skin softly. “So, back to what I was saying, about being in my head. I suppose “the beginning” is the only place to start…” I conclude. I casually flick one of the balls that had slowed it’s swinging motion, your eyes clench shut a moment. “My parents were very hands off when it came to raising my brother and I. Separated, they were just always working, or at the bars trying to find that person to fill the void left by the other. We were latchkey kids who raised ourselves, we had to pick up the adult slack in the actual home. So, I suppose you can say a lot of responsibility was put on me early. But I’m not trying to tell a sob story. That just might be why I like to control so much I suppose. But anyway, before my mother would go out to the bar every night, she would give me $2.14. Literally, $2.14 cents, I kid you not, her change, counted out into a sandwich bag, because that was the cost of renting a movie from the video store. That was ‘My Babysitter’, a movie. I grew up loving movies.”

“Every evening I would walk to the video store and I would pick something to watch, to entertain me. At first, they were probably very much kid ‘things’, but believe it or not I really enjoyed a wide variety of movies. I was a mature kid for my age.” I wink at you, knowing sometimes I can be such a smart ass. “Many times I would rent adult Rated R movies, action, horror, etc.… Back then they didn’t stop a kid from renting anything, or at least my video stores didn’t. But when I reached pre-teen/young teen ages, I watched a movie that enthralled me. It became my favorite for a very long time. It was called “Bad Girls”.”

You giggled at me through your ball gag complete with a little drool. Rolling your your eyes at me as if you know exactly where my conversation is going. And why wouldn’t you think that? With a movie title like “Bad Girls”, of course it sounds like a porn.

I, “hmm huh” in agreement. I slide my hand down your naked torso to your pussy. My fingers glide into your wetness and tease you. It only takes but a moment before your hips are gyrating and legs are spreading to invite me in further. I play with your body because touching you makes my heart race and my brain turn to mush. It really does take SO much to stop myself. You begin moaning and right when your eyes close, I abruptly slap your pussy and pull your head back by your hair. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my story.” I smirk, but if looks could kill, let’s just say I’d be in trouble. “The movie is not what you’re thinking….”

“’Bad Girls’ isn’t a porn” I say. You just moan a desperate grumble at me, not really caring anymore and wanting to get back to the touching. Brat. “It’s a western, about four women, that in one way or another get gypped by the male led society of the 1800’s. Sort of boils down to a Female Empowerment Western really.” My hands move along your skin, the one in your hair touches your neck softly, and the other makes circles around your breasts. “My point though, besides the just ‘Girl Power Yay!’, is there was a scene… This scene…” I digress, “I may have saw the movie a hundred times, but this scene, I stopped and rewound, watched and then re-watched again…. and again…. and again.” I start to get quiet, “This scene, Drew Barrymore actually…., plays a feisty blonde, hardly dressed, tied to a bed… helpless. At the mercy of a western gang….” My voice, which was filled with confidence not long ago, stutters, and pauses trying to force out the ones that come next, they’re quiet, but I manage. “….. gets raped…..” is whispered, barely audible. “Implied rape anyway.” I clarify quickly. I have a hard time saying this, aloud, admitting my fascination with something so fowl, so rotten.

I watch your eyes, they go wide. But with what? Fear? Curiosity? This isn’t something I’ve ever told anyone before. I do my best to hide it but my own chest is pounding, praying you don’t have an over-reaction. I’m not sure, but briefly I think your eyes go to the dildo and strap on on the coffee table and I begin to panic that you’re connecting the two.

I read the situation and decide for a “just in case” measure to unbuckle your gag so that YOU can use your words to conclude this at any moment. I move to your front, dragging my hand around your midsection, never leaving your skin until I reach up and pull the ball from your mouth. Your jaw readjusts a moment and you watch me so intently, every move, so mesmerizingly, you stare into my eyes. And I stare back into yours, pleading for you to see that I’m still me… and not a monster. And after a few moments I realize it’s NOT fear you’re looking at me with…… Thank God.

I give your lips a kiss, a soft thank you.

But this story isn’t done, not by a long shot. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to get back into my own head space. My Dom space, needing to find that control again.

I drag my nail leaving a little wave of a red line between your breasts before I meet your eyes again. “You see I spent all my teenage years, most, if not all of my twenties as well thinking I had a rape fantasy. It’s absurd isn’t it? That a woman would crave such a thing?”

“But I seemed to… After that scene I rented every movie I could think of with a kidnap theme. I would peruse all the shelves of the video store searching for anything at all that would give me that kind of rush again. Every scene with a tied-up damsel in distress became a jackpot, giving me a high, LONG before I even understood what sexual arousal was. They would make my heart pound, my mouth water, and my eyes stare at the screen, transfixed on the vulnerable woman.”

“So, as you know, I write. Well, I thought I should write it out. Get it out of my system so to speak. Get it down on paper. Lock it away, burn it, finish the story so that it feels complete. Then, just maybe, I could move on. Leave it behind. Because if the story was complete, it would feel finished, right? Done. Over.”

“So, I wrote.” My hand cups your chin and forces a focused and direct eye contact. “It was absolutely god-awful garbage. Very generic, a man/rapist comes into the room, finds his helpless damsel. Ties her to the bed, using the most awful dialog possible ‘Don’t scream or I’ll, blah blah blah…..” I make a yakety-yak motion with my hand. “Terrible. But you know what….. that doesn’t matter. What does… I didn’t piece together until many, many years later…. Until I started doing this. Until I saw a submissive, tied up. So beautiful. My heart pounded so hard I thought it would escape my chest.”

“You see, I could never finish that rape story. I don’t know how many times I tried. Dozens, probably over the years. I could write the build-up. I wrote pages and pages of build-up, much more than needed…. Of bad dialog, of the woman tied to the bed, of threats and begging, of the fucking color of the sheets and shit. Who fucking cares, right? But when it came time for the deed, I could never write that… My stories would just, stop… writer’s block.”

“I just couldn’t ever do that to her. A fictional ‘HER’! For fucks sake. What’s a rape fantasy if you, yourself, alone can’t even put it into words.”

I move behind you and run my hands along your hour glass shape all the way up your arms, to your hands. And I just hold them in their restraints, frustrated with myself. I wrap mine around yours and hide behind a diluted sense of being the strong one. I hide this vulnerability. I hate this.

I take a deep breath and let my hands glide down your body. I remove the clamps on your breasts to which you cringe slightly at the blood rushing back into them. I massage them tenderly.

I move around you allowing my soft touches to roam over your beautiful body freely. Your vulnerable, trusting, sexy body. When I find my words again, I speak.

“You see, I spent the better part of two decades, thinking I had a rape fantasy. When all along, it was just this. An attraction, an excitement, so visceral to a bound woman, to that vulnerability; the power exchange, angst, trust, the fear of what comes next, that my heart pounds, my thighs clench and mouth waters at the thought of you.”

I release your wrists from the restraints holding them high and because of your muscle exhaustion you fall into me. And I hold you. I make you look up at my face. “You ARE so beautiful. A sight that sends not butterflies, but elephants through my stomach. So, don’t ever think, that I don’t get something out of this, because I crave you. Having this is beyond rewarding.” I kiss the top of your forehead.

You look up at me, move your hands behind my neck, our foreheads touching.

“Thank you for telling me this.” You take the lead and my hand guiding me back to the bedroom. We made love that night, no restraints needed.


End file.
